


Unsaid

by Gelana



Series: Untitled [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-10-08 05:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10379631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelana/pseuds/Gelana
Summary: Bernie's return from Kiev was never going to be easy. But nothing worth having is ever easy.





	1. Chapter 1

They hung back and pushed forward in turns. Each paying close attention to the other. Their snog and fumble in the office (that bloody woman's arse was hard - actually hard) was followed by hours of covert heart eyes and feigned professionalism. Serena resorted to wadding up toilet paper in her knickers. She thought about having it off in the loo, then thought about inviting Bernie to join her, and felt her cheeks go hot.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Jason who asked Bernie if she was coming to dinner, as she was prescribing him a muscle relaxant and analgesic, and signing him off.

"Jason, you've had a tiring day, I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"It's cottage pie night, Auntie Serena will need help with the cooking or it takes too long," Jason explained patiently. "I can't very well peel potatoes and slice mushrooms like this."

Bernie smirked and raised an eyebrow at Serena. "Your nephew makes a reasonable argument. What say you, Ms. Campbell? Are you as brave as all that, to call on my skills as a sous chef?"

"It is faster with two," Serena said, mask of calm, friendly professionalism firmly back in place.

Bernie cleared her throat and tried not to smirk, to blink away the sensation of Serena's hands on her, pulling them flush, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, belly to belly, not caring who saw.


	3. Chapter 3

It _was_ faster with two. Jason perched himself at the counter and wasn't shy about ordering Bernie about. They moved around Serena's kitchen easily together. It felt for all the world like no time had passed, even though everything was shifted on its axis.

Bernie peeled potatoes double time and had them all pared down, cubed, and into already boiling water, just as Serena was stirring a touch of flour into the cooked mince.

"That's to thicken the gravy, Bernie," Jason said cheerfully. "That's the secret. That and a nice Shiraz."

They were Serena's exact words if her grin and eye-roll were any indication. She stirred the pan, covered it, and turned down the heat.

"Do you want to watch an old episode of World's Strongest Man or something while it cooks?" Serena asked, squeezing Jason's uninjured shoulder. "You can eat in front of the telly if you like."

"Yes, but I shall set an alarm for the new episode of Doctor Who, I shouldn't like to miss anything. Do you want to watch it with me, Bernie?"

"Normally I'd jump at the chance, Jason, but your Aunt Serena and I have a bit of catching up to do. Do you mind if we leave you to the Doctor and eat in the kitchen?"

He eyed her for a moment. "You may, if you don't talk too loudly."

"Thank you, Jason. We'll try to keep it down." Bernie fought the smile that Jason always sussed out of her.

He nodded, attention already on the television.

If there was one thing she appreciated, it was his very literal, analytical mind. She'd missed him, too. Thought of him nearly as often as she thought of her own children.

Bernie fussed over Jason's shoulder a bit, icing it with frozen peas. When she returned to the kitchen, Serena was busy mashing the potatoes. She bade Bernie hold the piping bag while she filled it (of course Serena would have a piping bag and various shining metal tips to choose from). Taking it from Bernie's hands, Serena methodically covered the meat and veg with perfect looking squirts of mash before returning assembled dish to the oven.

Serena busied herself cleaning up, washing dishes. Not that there was much. Cutting boards, knives, the pot for the potatoes, the piping bag.

"Let me help," Bernie said softly.

Serena looked at her. There was a wariness in her gaze. A caution that wasn't there before, not even during the awkward weeks after their post-surgical snog session.

Still, Serena acquiesced, nodded, tossed Bernie a towel.


	4. Chapter 4

Bernie took the items from her hands, and dried them and one by one, put them away. They set the table in silence. Neither arced far from the other in an slowly tightening orbit. Serena's eyes blistered her skin. Bernie wanted permission to touch, to search out the fires that seared and sparked between them. She didn't know how to ask. Words tangled in her throat, turned leaden and silent. Stood as close as she was to Serena, Bernie let her fingertips graze Serena's arm. The vascular surgeon flinched slightly.

"Bernie." It was spoken low, in a rumble, and sounded for all the world like a warning.

Bernie stepped back, but only a little. She caught a look that hummed with desire, though hers or Serena's, she wasn't sure.

"Why don't you open that duty free bottle?" Serena said, more gently, with a teasing smile.

Bernie cringed, the wine had been an afterthought. She didn't even know what she was thinking beyond the last minute panic of realizing she shouldn't return empty-handed. But then again what was the gift that was most appropriate for returning after pulling a thinly disguised runner because you were a coward and panicked? Bernie nipped her lips into a thin line and did as she was bid, poured two glasses and handed one to Serena who took a deep swallow and frowned.

Setting her glass down, Serena laid out cloth napkins, and a pair of candlesticks, which she lit with a single wooden match.

"I missed you," Serena said. It was spoken quietly, with a vulnerability that made Bernie's guilt feel like water, dripping cold and slow between her shoulders.

"I missed you, too," Bernie whispered.

"I got used to having you at my back," Serena said, frowning. "To us having each other's backs."

Serena reached out and took Bernie's hand, just stood and held it between her own for a moment before pulling Bernie towards her.

" _Their destiny is about to be determined across six events!_ " the narrator of World's Strongest Man bellowed from the other room.

"Serena... I..." Bernie was silenced by arms that wrapped tight about her waist.


	5. Chapter 5

"If you ever do that again," Serena said finally, her voice catching, then steadying, gaining momentum. "Don't bother coming back. I've already had an ex-husband leave me like so much rubbish, only to come collect me whenever he got lonely, I won't repeat that fuckery if I can help it. Not with anyone."

"Serena," Bernie's whisper died on her lips. What could she say? "I"m …"

"And don't you dare tell me you're sorry," Serena said in a sharply annunciated growl. "I don't want to bloody hear it. You show me. Prove to me you're not going to just turn tail and run the second things get hard. And don't ever assume you know what's best for me."

Serena held onto Bernie while she spoke, kept holding on even after her words were spent. Resting her head on Bernie's shoulder, she relaxed her grip a little and sighed. "You know you are shockingly idiotic, for such a bloody brilliant surgeon."


	6. Chapter 6

Bernie didn't move at first, held perfectly still when Serena's cheek touched hers, when a hand lit on her jaw. Closing her eyes, Bernie turned her head, met Serena's mouth with her own. She could never find the right words, but she could shape silent syllables with teeth and tongue, could pour her sorrow, her need into a kiss. She could sew her hunger in sliding palm-strokes, her love in the press of hips, the soft crush of breasts.

The oven chimed, was summarily ignored by them both until seconded by a remonstrative Jason.

"Auntie Serena! The timer!"

An eye-roll and a sigh later, Serena grinned.

"Thank you, Jason," she said into Bernie's neck, sounding like she meant it, her smile genuine.

The television blared. " _Restoring British pride there! Taking another record!_ "

"Jason, could you please turn it down to a low roar?"


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner was quiet, but surprisingly, not awkward. They both tucked in, hungry. Even with seconds they finished before the new episode of Doctor Who was halfway over.

Serena finished her glass and poured herself more, topped off Bernie's. She took a breath and set her jaw, considering her companion.

"I deserved — we deserved — better than all that," she said in a measured tone. "And if I had half a brain I wouldn't give you another chance. But it's been long established that I haven't even half a brain, so there we are."

There was never any foothold for digging her heels into her anger when it came to Bernie. Serena felt herself let go of most of it as she cleared the table and watched Bernie radiate guilt, discomfort.

"You've got to be shattered, with the time difference," Serena said abruptly, fondness burring through the words. She pulled her gaze from where it lingered on Bernie's throat.

"I should … call a cab," Bernie said taking an abrupt breath, all awkwardness and angles again, arms crossed, eyes flicking towards her shoes.

"Stay," Serena said, quick and firm enough to make herself cringe. She felt gooseflesh raising on her arms, anticipation fluttering up her spine, and found they had done it again. Somehow they'd moved from across the kitchen to stand nearly toe to toe without even realizing it. Berenice Bloody Wolfe, she mused, had the gravitational pull of a neutron star. There was no escape once you were caught. Serena thought of poor Marcus. That sod never stood a chance. How half the ward didn't follow Bernie around like starry-eyed puppies was beyond her. She couldn't think of the hundred reasons to be angry. Or the litany of demands she had rehearsed. Instead she was moving ever closer, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe evenly.


	8. Chapter 8

"Will you? Stay?" Serena whispered, doing her best to hold her chin still and slowly blink back the water in her eyes. (They're only tears if they fall.) She didn't just mean stay the night, and didn't think it was lost on Bernie.

Bernie didn't look away. "If you want me to," she whispered.

"I do."

"Then I will."

"Good."

"Ok."

Taking a purposeful step back, Serena remembered Bernie's wheeled suitcase and rucksack. It gave her a bit of reality to hold onto.

"Your clothes," Serena said in an almost-croak. "Do you need to wash anything?"

Bernie looked at her for a moment like she was speaking Dutch while the unexpected words sank in. "My…? Yes. Actually."

"Well then, laundry room is the door next to Jason's loo. You'll hit the downstairs guest room if you go too far. I'll just pop up and get you a pair of jim-jams."

"I suppose I do smell a bit like an airport ashtray," Bernie said, hands shoved in her pockets, tipping her head conspiratorially.

"A bit," Serena said. She had thought of that rakish half-grin so often during Bernie's absence. She would tell Bernie eventually, if only to watch her flush and squirm. And Bernie would definitely flush and squirm when Serena informed her of the sorts of activities she typically engaged in whilst imagining that particular smile.

"Serena?" Bernie shifted her weight, not taking her hands from her pockets. "Jason?"

"I've already set an alarm in my phone for his 0200 meds. He'll sleep hard most of the night. If he doesn't, it's a big house." The implication of the words she spoke sank in after they left her mouth and her skin burned. They were said though, so she soldiered on. "He'll be needing to get used to his aunt having sleepovers, I suppose."

Bernie nodded once, silent, not meeting her eyes. "Still, don't you think you should ask if he minds having a … a houseguest?"

"Go put your clothes in the wash, Major, and I'll sort him out," Serena rumbled, covering her nerves with false confidence. "Hup to it."


	9. Chapter 9

Serena rounded the corner and made her way to the family room. Jason reminded her of her mother sometimes, especially in his criticisms, and she felt for a moment like a child going to her parent to ask permission.

"Jason?"

He huffed an annoyed sigh and paused Doctor Who.

"Yes, Auntie Serena?"

"You don't mind if Bernie stays over, do you?"

"Well I assumed she would if she's going to be your girlfriend and all that."

"Right. So you don't mind?"

"No. As long as she doesn't leave the lights on in the kitchen after she gets a midnight snack."

"I said I was sorry," she said. "It was two times."

"It was three times and it shines under my door. It wakes me up."

"Jason, how can a little light shining under your door wake you up?"

"You are the doctor, Auntie Serena, you tell me."

"Right. I will inform her of the no kitchen lights at night rule. And you should think about bed soon. It's time for your pills."

"After the episode. It's almost over."

"Fair enough, I'll bring them in a few minutes."

Serena made herself climb the stair like a respectable fifty-one year old vascular surgeon and not sprint the entire way to her closet and back like a love-mad sixteen year old school-girl.

While she knew exactly the sort of borrowed sleepwear she would like to see on Bernie, she decided that the gun-shy ex-army medic would likely prefer sweats to satin. After a bit of wild shuffling through her Gloomy-Sunday-'Round-the-House drawer she decided on a cotton vest, Holby hoodie, and a relatively new, still-soft pair of fleece lined yoga pants.

As an afterthought, she turned on the tap for the tub.

Bernie was stood, long legs bare beneath the hem of her shirt, shoving wadded up trousers into the washer when Serena opened the laundry room door. Taking a slow breath, she stepped into the small room and placed the neatly folded stack of pyjamas on the washer.

"You didn't separate anything out did you?" she stated more that asked, with an exaggerated sigh, ignoring the low pulse of desire that thrummed through her. Honing in on the harsh sound of Bernie's breath, Serena faced her.

"Blouse?" She held her hand out, eyebrows expectantly raised.

"Serena… We… "

"Give it here and put those on." Serena shoved it into the washer when it was handed to her. Was not disappointed at the lines and angles of the Major in nothing but her bra and knickers. Felt a pang of something at the shiny, pink scar on her sternum. She knew Bernie's history, knew she'd had surgery to repair a fractured c5/c6 vertebrae, remembered hearing about the clot, and pericardotomy. But seeing it was different and it made something ache in her while Bernie pulled on the yoga pants.

"You've had a long day," she heard herself say. Watched her own hand as it lifted, pressed the pad of her thumb against a thin pale scar that could only be appendectomy, let her knuckles graze over Bernie's hip. She handed Bernie the vest, watched the woman tug it over her head.

Serena clenched her jaw for a moment to steady her nerve.

"You're welcome to the guest bedroom if you want it. But, I'll be upstairs, having a bath, and I'd rather you join me, should you care to," she said as casually as she could muster. "Oh, and Jason says you are welcome to stay over, so long as you don't turn on the kitchen light at night. Apparently it shines under his door and wakes him."

At that, Serena left the laundry room, smirking, feeling heady and pleased with herself.


	10. Chapter 10

The way Serena's knuckles whispered over her skin had sent her sideways, made Bernie tremble and twitch. With blood loud in her ears, pulsing through her sex, she was stood, out of breath, swollen and wet, alone in a laundry room. Outside the door she could hear Serena shooing Jason off to bed.

Explosions, ragged, rock strewn roads, and gunfire were nothing. Bernie stitched a bad bleed in a moving tank once, could hold her hands still as stone in so many different situations, never doubted her own ability when it came to surgery, to piecing a torn body back together, stitch by stitch. A torn relationship was a different beast. There were no clamps to use on a relationship to stem a bleed, no mending it with a fine row of sutures when it was rent, no amputating pieces, debriding necrotic parts when it soured and blackened. 

She could hear Marcus in her head. "You've torn it all down. It's what you do. You people. Heroes." 

Those words burned into her brain. Marcus was right, he was usually right. The only place she measured up to Marcus was in theater. Everything with Marcus was what she lacked, what she lacked as a wife, as a mother, as a woman in general, she was terrible at entertaining, at cooking, at all of it. It was always easier to be away.

Everything was all muddled in Bernie's head. Bernie's feelings for Serena threw her off-kilter, and that conflicted with how Serena steadied Bernie, how easily she made everything seem better, more manageable. It was a fucked up feedback loop of Bernie's own making, one gone much worse when she'd flown off to Kiev like the coward she was. She couldn't put Serena out of her mind. Grand wizard of compartmentalization, Bernie couldn't rid her thoughts of what she wanted, who she wanted. No matter how long the early morning runs, or how many late-night push-ups.

Though she claimed to hold vicious grudges, Serena had forgiven her time and again. But this particular chance had yet to be earned. Serena was right - Bernie's actions would prove if she'd changed or not. All she could do was throw herself into being worthy of the faith Serena seemed to have in her. 

It all depended on her now, her actions, her choice to walk through the unrelenting fear of how much Serena meant to her, to ignore the irrational thought that those feelings alone would doom them. 

Her hands shook when she finally threw her bra into the machine and started the wash cycle. They were shaking when she brushed her teeth in the downstairs loo. And they shook still, when Bernie closed and locked Serena's bedroom door behind her. 

"Please don't skulk about," Serena called from the en-suite. "Come inside."

Bernie peeked around the door. 

Serena was stood at her slightly steamed-over mirror, ensconced in a thick, cobalt blue bathrobe. She wiped the last of the makeup from her eyes, ignoring Bernie until she finished.

There was so much that sat of the tip of Bernie's tongue, so much that made her throat swell and ache.

The best she could manage was, "I looked in to see if Jason needed anything, and he was already asleep." 

What went unsaid was how much Bernie enjoyed Jason, how fond of him she was, how she respected Serena for her devotion to Jason, how Serena protected him, did what she could to enable him to live his fullest life, how she noticed that Serena always seemed to create family where family was needed, to mother the orphaned or abandoned, how much she admired Serena for her compassion.

Instead Bernie chewed the inside of her lips, while her gaze roamed the room, studiously avoiding Serena. Because already she was thinking about what Serena was or was not wearing underneath her robe. 

"Close the door, it's cold out there."

Bernie complied — the click of tongue in groove made her shiver — and leaned against it. 

"You'll make yourself at home of course. Mi casa, and all that. Flannels top of the cabinet," Serena said. "Bath towels on the bottom." 

It was nervous chatter, Bernie read that much.

"Look, Serena, we don't ... if you..."

"Oh for the love of ...! Would you stop bloody assuming and just ask?"

"What?"

"This very moment you are jumping to conclusions about what I'm feeling. Ask me. Don't assume."

Bernie cast about for words, slowly stitched a sentence together.

"Are you ... sure this is what you want? You seem ..."

"I seem?"

"Nervous."

Serena looked at her for a moment, and raised an eyebrow.

"I," she began. "Am planning on shagging, a brilliant, distractingly beautiful, world-renowned trauma surgeon — whom I fancy madly — until she can barely walk. A feat which I have never before attempted nor accomplished with a woman. So, yes, I'd say a few nerves are warranted."

All wide-eyed flushed silence, Bernie felt the gravel lilt of Serena's tone in her sex.

"Did you have any other clarifications or concerns you wish to raise, Major Wolfe?"

"She's luckier than she has any right to be," Bernie said, quite unsure if it was actually herself speaking. "That trauma surgeon of yours."

"Her luck's going to run out if she doesn't shut up and kiss me." 

Bernie smiled, how could she not smile at that. Apparently she didn't act fast enough, because before she'd closed the distance between them, Serena caught Bernie's face up in her hands, and pulled her to an eager mouth.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are veering towards M but technically we are still just at a strong T.  
> 

The woman could kiss.

Even Bernie's chaste kisses left her gasping. Serena found herself tipping her head, enthusiastically losing herself in heat and sensation, in the overwhelming desire that coursed through her, in the sensuous stroke of tongues. They were both hungry for contact —  _desperate - let's be honest, Campbell_ — eager and shy in turns. Serena sighed at the firm press of smaller breasts against the swollen slope of her own. She pulled Bernie's hips tight to her, luxuriating in what welled between them, rushing electric up her spine. Bernie didn't loosen her hold when they parted to breathe.

"I never stood a chance," Serena whispered into Bernie's shoulder, wishing away the infernal hoody so that she might trace the lines and shadows of clavicles with her lips, dip her tongue into the soft hollow beneath them. Trailing her thumbnail down the zipper, enjoying the clicking of keratin over its teeth, she flicked a glance to hooded brown eyes. Bernie gave the barest of nods. When Serena slid the zip down, she slipped a hand under the thin vest, enjoyed the warmth caught there, the dance and jump of muscle. She laughed out loud when Bernie let go of her for precisely long enough to shuck the hoody and strip off the vest. Then she went silent.

"Eyes up here, Campbell."

She hadn't realized she wasn't breathing until she blurted out a mortified, "Sorry."

"Serena! I'm joking," Bernie said, with a grin.

"Good, because all I want to do is look at you."

Bernie raised her eyebrows. "Just look?"

Serena smirked, felt her sex clench.

"You have no idea. Good Lord, the things I want to do with you, to you."


	12. Chapter 12

Serena said her name, in that soft, vulnerable way she had (the one that made her wet, the one she'd never heard Serena use with anyone else), looking her in the eye, gutting her with that gaze, thumb brushing the underside of her breast, seeking silent consent.

Bernie wanted to tell Serena that she didn't need permission.

It would be so easy.

_I trust you. Do anything you want, however you want. I'm yours._

Instead all she did was nod, and then quake when Serena traced slow patterns over her breasts, when Serena dipped her head to lay a line of kisses from Bernie's sternum, up her neck, following the path of her scars. Her ears rushed with the sound of her own low, throaty whine. When Serena finally pulled the tie to her robe, let the terry-cloth pool on the tiled floor and stepped into her, everything narrowed to skin on skin.


	13. Chapter 13

The rough sound of Bernie's breath and the involuntary flickers under Serena's fingertips spoke volumes. They told Serena what she'd been hoping to hear about how Bernie longed for her, welcomed her touch. Serena knew how to listen to things kept tucked tight to the chest, could suss out the signs and hidden symptoms of damn near any affliction. It was easy enough to turn that talent to learning a lover's body, evoking sensations, studying reactions, reading through the lines of corded sinew and tense muscle, even if she was distracted by how perfectly a certain Berenice Wolfe's breast fit into the cup of her palm. It proved a heady combination of newness and familiarity. 

Hooded eyes opened and sought her out when Serena tugged at taut skin with the crook of her thumb. Even that gaze told stories of burning need. 

"You're not off the hook," she said barely louder than a whisper, knowing it was a lie, knowing she'd forgiven Bernie before she walked back into the AAU. "Not remotely. But you have the softest skin, and I bloody well missed you." Serena closed her eyes, mapped the rise and fall of muscle.

"Serena?" 

There was so much in Bernie's eyes, in the set of her jaw, so much in her stance. How that woman could make her name sound like a prayer and an apology was beyond her. 

"Come on," Serena said. "We're letting the bath go cold."


	14. Chapter 14

For the record, the bathwater wasn't cold; it smelled of sandalwood and a trace of amber. Robbie had grumbled when he joined her, proclaiming the scent too feminine. Earlier, while she'd tapped a few drops of perfumed oil into the rising water, (gusset of her knickers soaked through) the memory made her smirk.

Folded together, rinsed-out shampoo coloring the bathwater the cream of steam-foamed milk, their sharp sighs and delicate hums hung in the air. To Serena's delight, with only a bit of maneuvering Bernie managed to tuck legs under her raised knees, and fit the narrowest part of her middle tight between the cushion of Serena's hip and the tub wall. Her proportions differed decidedly from Robbie's, suited the physics and dimensions of the situation. Bernie rested her head on Serena's shoulder, temple to jaw. She drew a starting breath twice before she seemed to settle on her words.

"What you said earlier - you're right, we deserved more. This isn't what I wanted for us. I mean I wasn't expecting violins and rose petals, but I didn't want pinpricks and fear and this tight feeling in my throat," Bernie said quietly, burrowing deeper into the circle of Serena's arms. "I ruin things, I never mean to, it's just who I am."

"It isn't who you are to me," Serena said and went silent for a moment, willing the emotion out of her voice. "You're daft to be sure, infuriating without question, and the one person in my life who's ever properly had my back. At least, I thought that was how we worked."

Bernie grimaced, only met Serena's eyes for a moment before she looked away. "It ... It is... It will be."

"Show me you mean that," Serena said. "Because that's what I need. That's what I want."

Bernie nodded, silent.

"Well, that and for you to continue snogging me senseless."

Serena smiled when the statement teased a bark of laughter from Bernie, who then stiffened to mock-attention and saluted.

"Aye Aye, Sir!"

 


	15. Chapter 15

"God help me, Bernie, but if you make me slosh any more water on my tiles!"

Bernie bit back a smile, glanced up at Serena, breathless, enjoying the judder and gasp she was responsible for, the ripples that coursed the length of the tub.

"Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth," Bernie said, teasing her fingers over the soft curve of Serena's belly. "But I'm not the one who insisted on a bath, and then forbade the spilling of water on the floor. You're putting me in an awkward position here, Campbell."

"Oh, you think so?" Serena growled, and with a single, regally raised eyebrow and the slightest tilt of her head, made her wordless wishes on the matter abundantly clear. A thrill ran through Bernie, like a wish or a promise. So much awaited the two of them, if she could somehow manage to not fuck things up. 

"Fortunately, I know a thing or two about awkward positions," Bernie said, savouring a lingering kiss before untangling their legs. Serena swatted at her arse when Bernie levered herself up and over the side of the tub (onto the bath mat - she wasn't such a glutton for punishment). "Oi! You have no one but yourself to thank for the laundry I have to switch to the dryer."

Emboldened, Bernie snatched Serena's robe from where it lay on the floor. "Wouldn't want to drip."

She didn't hear the words until she said them and then willed her expression to hold while she slid defiantly into the robe, spun around, and bolted. A low laugh rolled through the door of the en suite as it clicked shut behind her.  


	16. Chapter 16

There _was_ a load of clean clothes waiting for her, but that wasn't why she needed a moment away. _Always moving, always running, never in one place for long, my Lone Wolfe_. That was what Marcus said. _Rolling stone gathers no moss, eh Bern?_ That wasn't it either, though. He always thought he knew what was going on in her head. She let him think he was right until she couldn't anymore. She felt a little guilty that she didn't miss him. She missed the kids, but she didn't miss him, was grateful no one here had taken to calling her Bern. She didn't move to get away from the people necessarily, but to get away from the feelings. Although, typically one was associated with the other. Bernie remembered just before she made it to the kitchen that the light woke Jason and fumbled her way to the laundry room in the dark.

It occurred to her she'd hit terminal velocity long before she blundered away to Kiev, that there was no coming back from Serena Campbell. She left to see if she could go, to test her tether. She left because she'd never felt like this, not with anyone. She left because she was afraid of what she felt and wondered if walking away from it would be easier than watching it all explode in her face.

Her clothes were heavy with water. She decided —with their weight in her hands — to let this strange current ebb and flow through her and feel it. Everything had changed. There was no going back (back was shadows and sourness) only forward, towards Serena. Pressing the button, Bernie listened to her clothes thump and tumble about the drum of Serena's dryer.   
Serena who had become as fundamental, as necessary as sleep or water, who was always there when she needed a coffee and a chat, or a whiskey touched to a wine glass after a long shift. All she had left was Serena and a sort of prayer that it was enough, that she would be enough, that she would finally get this right.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Serena supposed she should be annoyed at being worked up and abandoned, but she could sense the panic rising up in Bernie, her need to regroup. It wasn't as if Bernie could disappear into the night with only a bathrobe to warm herself. The laundry room for fifteen minutes was a far cry from Kiev for three months.

Drying off, Serena juddered as she went, expectant, determined to enjoy the slick sense of anticipation, to be patient. But with the echo of Bernie's touch simmering between her thighs, patience was a reluctant partner. Padding around her bedroom, Serena lit a few candles and the fire, and took a long draw from the water bottle on her nightstand. Her flesh was pebbled-over from the chill, despite the manufactured flame that danced to life at the flick of a switch. She flopped belly first onto her down comforter, pretended to read a medical journal. There was no denying the intentionality of the picture she painted, facing the door, knees bent, ankles crossed, propping her chin up in her hand. She was all bum and bosom, and had worked out two rather saucy quips to choose from (one tart and one rather commanding). Bernie opened the door and froze, mouth hung slack. Serena felt it like a pulse and took advantage of the silence to stand, but her strategy crumbled with each movement, her scripts blew away like broken insect wings. Bernie made her swell, first with the length of her gaze, then with the way she rasped Serena's name. She found herself blinking back tears and grinning like an idiot, unable to say or do any of the delightfully witty and sensual things she'd just meticulously planned.

There was a slowness and precision in the way Bernie closed and locked the door. Then she untied and dropped the bathrobe and surged across the room, the force of her embrace sending Serena back a step. For her part, Serena closed her eyes and she sank into strong arms, let herself be gathered tightly, held close. They found their balance and stirred what sediment had settled; Bernie's hands wandered over hip and thigh, trailed up her rib cage and back again. Something about the way those hands fell made Serena hold very still. She was afraid Bernie would spook, like a wheeling flock of birds. Nor did she wish to miss even one inspired half-stroke.

Eventually Serena cracked, selfish, yearning for the feel of skin on skin and began her own explorations of the Major. She noticed her movements were mirrored, felt fingertips slip over her skin, catching at the peaks of her nipples. ( _Hard enough to cut bloody glass, thank you very much_.) Serena's touches seemed to map out a string of permissions, each leading to a similar one in return. Nipping Bernie's throat to test her hypothesis, Serena hummed at the gentle return scrape of teeth over her own. She could feel it when a layer of trademark, well-intentioned restraint fell away from Bernie. Hesitancy shifted, transformed into needful hands, reaching, grasping. Bernie's fingers were in her hair, Bernie's lips hotly chasing out her own, claiming everything Serena offered with kiss after kiss.

 _Touch paper in-bloody-deed_ , Serena thought, just before she stopped forming thoughts, just before being spun around and pulled tight to Bernie's body. Teeth caught at her earlobe, sparked shivers down her spine. Bernie's palm, smoothed over her throat and shoulder, teasing over belly, squeezing thigh, sinuous and coaxing. Nothing prepared her for the sheer, indulgent eroticism of watching Bernie weigh her breast with a wide hand, or the harsh sound of Bernie's breath rasping intimately at her ear.

  
"You missed a spot," Serena said finally, when she was able, when she could suck enough air into her lungs for speech, and had worked up the nerve to tug one of Bernie's hands between her thighs.

"Greedy," Bernie burred — reflection grinning at her in the mirror — and bit the meat of her shoulder


	18. Chapter 18

It wasn't enough — it wasn't nearly enough — how Bernie was touching her.

Serena arched into taunting strokes that just skirted her sex. Bernie combed through and gripped her pubic hair, hummed heated appreciation into her ear. Serena caught her wrist, pressed Bernie's open palm to her vulva, slid herself shamelessly over it, almost embarrassed by how wet she felt through Bernie's fingers.

"I need you inside me," Serena whispered and cringed at how emotional the words sounded, how utterly floundering and helpless she was in Bernie's meandering hands, how easily Bernie turned her back around and kissed her to groaning.

They both gasped when long fingers dipped into her, slow and electric, opening up a current. She felt it between her shoulder blades, behind her knees, flushing her cheeks, lighting nerve endings and neurons alike. Months of pent up longing heightened sensation, buzzed in the air between them. Serena made a vaguely displeased noise as it seemed to her that they should be able to squeeze even closer, to fit tighter to one another. She had a moment of hyper-awareness of the space in her life that fit the shape of Berenice Wolfe, of everything she was. Serena kept thinking of the nineties song, by the Icelandic girl who sang like an ice pick. The one about missing someone you haven't met yet.

_Honestly the things a woman thinks when another woman's fingers are inside of her. What the actual hell, Campbell?_

She had a rather abiding sense of recognition that this was what — this was who — she had been missing. Bernie. She'd known it for a while, this was just proper confirmation.

"Serena," Bernie husked. The tone of her voice pebbled Serena's flesh, fluttered in the pit of her stomach. All grace and pretense fell away then, baring clumsy, juddering lust. Love, too, — of course that, they wouldn't be there without it — but she was trying to not get too far ahead of herself. It would be a while before she said that L-word out loud in earshot of one Berenice Griselda Wolfe.

Serena's knees buckled just before she climaxed. Bernie kept her from falling, eased her onto the bed, before redoubling her efforts. Serena came hard, panting and mewling, ( _bloody mewling, like an idiot_ ) clenching tightly around Bernie's fingers. Bernie for her part seemed to know just how long Serena needed her to stay as she was, three fingers deep inside the flickering muscles of her sex. Bernie pulled away from her slowly, replaced her hand with the welcome press of her thigh between Serena's legs. She held Bernie tightly, pulled her on top of her, hip bones cutting into her belly. The tenderness that opened up in her was swollen and fierce, and honeyed-over in a way she usually associated with weakness.

Serena laughed self-consciously when Bernie drew her into a kiss and she couldn't stop quaking and trembling from aftershocks. She felt foolish until she saw the water in Bernie's eyes, the way Bernie looked at her, gaze dark, hooded, woven through with something akin to wistfulness or worry. Then something clicked and she felt what Bernie couldn't say. Remembered that this was a woman who would rather leave the country than deal with her feelings. That she wanted all of it just as deeply as Serena and she was just as thrown for different reasons.

And with that the game changed. Well, not the game, exactly, but how she intended to play it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are still enjoying this. Gratitude for comments, critiques, and kudos. I always appreciate hearing what folks have to say.


	19. Chapter 19

She'd been enjoying the throb between her legs, losing herself to lazy kisses and Serena's vulnerable gaze. It wasn't easy to ignore the nagging sense that she didn't deserve any of it. Recognizing how right it all felt only served to feed her nerves.

Serena pushed at Bernie's shoulder, nudged her over, and lifted herself on an elbow to lip at the swell of Bernie's breast. A sharp inhale, then silence, punctuated the path of Serena's tongue.

"Do you know what I think?" Serena murmured against puckered pink flesh. Her predatory lilt roused Bernie, teased her body to attention.

"Hmmm?" Bernie soughed, shivering, resoundingly distracted, not really registering the question, just feeling an odd flush of  panic and arousal.

"I think that it was _you_ who felt too much pressure, _you_ who knew what you didn't want, but not what you did." Serena sowed a line of kisses — some soft and open-mouthed, some with teeth — from one nipple to the other. Bernie drew a ragged breath and swallowed, while Serena experimented with lips and tongue. When fingernails began a path over her flank, up her back, when Serena's mouth dipped to the sensitive skin of her stomach, Bernie squeezed her eyes shut, had to concentrate to still her shaking. It occurred to her at around the same time that she had severely underestimated one Serena Campbell. She lay there, lost track of Serena's words, overwhelmed as she was at the scope of everything coursing through her, until they rumbled through her again. 

"I think _that's_ what you meant when you said you're what's changed," Serena burred. "So, what is it Bernie?"

She was expected to formulate a response. Stuttering to life, Bernie stumbled over her words. "W-what ... what is what?"

"Tell me what is it that you want."

"What I want?" Bernie asked, and gasped when she felt Serena's teeth graze the inside of her thigh.  

_What I want is to feast on you, to make love to you until we can't move, until you don't remember what it even was you saw in Robbie, in anyone else. I want to make you come, to taste you on my lips, to feel your mouth on me, to smell you on me the next day._

_I want to pull you into a corner and kiss your neck and touch the small of your back and tell you how magnificent you are and to see you look at me the way you do when we've been on the ward all day and in surgery all night and we're both exhausted._

_I want to watch you sleep. I want to kiss you awake. I want to tell you what you are to me, how much richer my life has become with you in it. I want to help you put away the dishes and have dinner with you and Jason. I want to smile at you while we all chat after his quiz show, because I'm thinking of how I'm going to hold you down and kiss every inch of you once he's gone to bed._

But Bernie could barely think the words, let alone say them out loud. They rattled around her head with nowhere to go, making her breath catch, making her eyes ache with unshed tears.

"You've told me all about what you don't want, Berenice Wolfe," Serena continued, pausing, resting her chin on Bernie's pubic bone. "You don't want me to feel uncomfortable. You don't want to hurt me. You don't want to be lonely. I want to hear what you _do_ want."

Bernie blinked and glanced away for a breath, before meeting Serena's gaze.

" _You_ , Serena. I want _you_. This. _Us_."

Serena pursed her lips, examining Bernie through her eyelashes. "There. Was that so hard?"


	20. Chapter 20

Men were absolute idiots, Serena decided, thinking back to the times she'd had to cajole Edward & Robbie ( _and let's face it Campbell, **most** of the others_ ) into half-heartedly going down on her. She'd assumed it would be doable but somewhat distasteful based on how the men in her life went about it. 

But this ... To be able to touch a woman like this — to have her splayed open and vulnerable, to be tasting her so intimately, teasing pleasure from her tenderest places — was a gift. (Especially coming from a woman as stoic and guarded as Bernie.) In her estimation, there was nothing about it which warranted the reluctance the majority of her male lovers had shown.

Serena contentedly tested touches, explored textures. She had time to make up for after all, skills to practice and hone. She'd always been a quick study, and rapidly learned that the point of her tongue drew out gasps, while the flat of it made Bernie buck and tremble.

When she glanced up, Serena felt the vision of the woman throb through her own sex. Head thrown back, throat exposed, breasts heaving while the muscles of her abdomen contracted in time to Serena's mouth, Major Wolfe was a sight to behold.

"God, you're beautiful," she rumbled into the folds of Bernie's sex, pleased at the shiver it evoked. Serena slid a finger shallowly inside of her, but stopped and looked up when Bernie froze.

"This alright?" Serena asked in a low murmur after finding herself unable to read the flickering tendons of Bernie's throat, the underside of her chin. The only response was a strangled, wordless noise and a frantic looking nod of the head. She smiled to herself and returned to the task at hand, enjoying the other woman's pleasure almost more than her own. Working first one, then two fingers into Bernie's heat, focusing on the feel of swollen, slippery skin and quickening muscles, matching her rhythm to Bernie's subtle responses.

The only indications that Bernie was close was the deepening arch of her back, a sudden rigidity, a sharp intake of breath, then silence while her sex rippled and pulsed under Serena's lips, around her fingers. Bernie caught Serena's wrist, stilled her movements, pulled her into strong arms. It was a thing of beauty watching Bernie's mask slip, the raw, open need in her eyes, the desire shimmering off of her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing ok there?


	21. Chapter 21

Bernie was a quivering mess of nerve endings, couldn't stop the flood of everything she felt, everything she needed and wanted, all that she worried about. Serena for her part was exploring Bernie's heightened sensitivity, and doing her best to draw out tremors and gasps. Fear wasn't far; Bernie had done this before, slept with a good friend — more than once — and fucked it up properly. Good friends tended towards regret and awkwardness, afterwards.

She spoke into the air above them, shivering slightly at the line of kisses being pressed up along her throat.

"You, erm, if you didn't want to, erm, do that again ... you don't ... if it isn't... That is," she said, verbally flopping and flailing like the fish her father so often caught.

Serena instantly propped herself up on her elbow, looking panic stricken. "Wait, do you not want me to? I thought..."

"Oh God, no, Serena, that's not what I meant," Bernie spluttered. "I ... Just..."

"Do _you_ not want to ... with me?" Serena trailed off, obviously uncomfortable. "I mean of course if you'd rather not, I'd never expect y..."

"Serena," Bernie said in a pained groan, digging at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I only meant if it isn't to your taste, you don't ... Oh, God." She cringed when she heard her words, then flushed at the low laugh that rumbled up out of Serena.

Bernie squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. It was all she could do to raggedly whisper, "Serena, Please."

Serena seemed to hear the want, the awkward plea to not be toyed with, and settled into Bernie's embrace.

"How many times will you need reminding, I wonder, before you stop making assumptions, Major? I believe the question is, 'Was it good for you?' And for the record you're not very observant if you thought I wasn't enjoying myself."

Bernie's relief was immediate. "If I wasn't very observant, it was because I could barely open my eyes. Whose fault might that be, I wonder?"

She loved to hear Serena's throaty chuckle, loved even more to be its cause.

She pressed a kiss to Serena's hair. "Not every woman likes it. I just meant it was okay if you didn't."

"I like it," Serena said quietly, not meeting Bernie's gaze. That was all it took — the sound of Serena gone small, vulnerable — for Bernie to step out of herself and settle into who she was when she was with Serena.

"Good. You're good at it. You sure you've never gone down on a woman before?"

Serena's easy squawk of laughter kept Bernie smiling, made her brave enough to search out the salt of herself on Serena's lips, to knead at deliciously generous thighs.

"Mind if I return the favor?" Bernie asked in a low murmur between kisses, all smirking cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude for all the comments and feedback. I hope you enjoy reading these two dorks as much as I enjoy writing them.


	22. Chapter 22

Neither of them were young. Their bodies bore testament to that fact, weathering and wear written over their faces. Theirs were breasts that had nursed children. The skin of their baby-stretched bellies sagged and creped. Bernie kissed her way over sun damage, stretch-marks, and cellulite, and settled between Serena's thighs to hold her open and taste her for the first time. She could only meet Serena's gaze for a little while before hiding beneath her fringe. Better she focus on glistening skin, and drawing low moans from Serena's throat.

There is comfort in a body that has unapologetically lived a life, poignancy in the grey hair and imperfections, stories in the scars. Alex had occasionally said things like that to her when Bernie was feeling insecure about the ten year gap in their ages. She appreciated the sentiment but hadn't properly understood it until she met Serena. She had a memory of sipping a rather peppery Shiraz, and watching — really watching — the lines that fanned out from Serena's eyes. They deepened with every smile, every laugh; she remembered thinking how beautiful they looked, how much character they gave Serena.

Surrounded by her scent, Bernie's lips moved against Serena's sex, mouthing a promise she wouldn't — couldn't — put into words, a sort of incantation borne of gratitude and hope. Skin on skin, one hand roaming Serena's plush belly and soft, full breasts, the other joining her mouth, Bernie was sure she was entirely undeserving of this sort of trust, this sort of beauty. But she was determined to give Serena every ounce of what _she_ deserved, to tease out and catalogue the staccato string of gasps and the rumbling, strained way Serena said, "Oh God, Bernie" just before she came.

If something changed between now and the light of day (and in her experience, it usually did), she had rendered the indomitable Serena Campbell hooded-eyed and speechless. Bernie listened to the sound of their rushing breath filled the air.

  
She had done enough right for Serena to be kissing her and laughing. She could live with that.


	23. Chapter 23

When the alarm for Jason's 02:00 meds went off, a line was being imprinted on Serena Campbell's arse from where one Berenice Wolfe had forcibly hefted her onto the low dresser, and was continuing a concerted and zealous effort to shag her into next week. Serena was nearly there again, when the cell phone alarm blared rudely. They both cursed and juddered apart, shocked out of their singular purpose, momentum deflated.

  
Serena rushed to the cell, fumbled it twice, muttering darkly, trying to turn off the ghastly noise. She'd purposely chosen the loudest and most annoying sound in the gadget's library, assuming they'd be fast asleep.

Had Bernie been a man they would have, she thought. She'd lost count of the turns they'd taken (Five? Six?), the times she had come tightly around determined fingers, the times she'd succeeded in rendering the Major wordless, groaning and wild. There had been some disagreement as to whether a double orgasm counted as one or two in the grand combined tally - which, regardless, reached into the double digits. Once she'd gotten the alarm fully silenced, not just on snooze, she looked to Bernie with wide eyes. The predatory smile that met her gaze made her shiver.

  
"To be continued...?" Bernie practically purred the words - she had found a boldness after the first round or two. Hesitancy was abandoned for the tenacity and gleaming-eyed competitiveness that served her so well in theater. For someone who tripped on her words, Bernie was surprisingly adept at putting her mouth to other uses - kissing, sucking, biting, teasing Serena to orgasm after orgasm.

  
"Come on then," Bernie said, her voice low, hooking Serena's elbow, drawing her to the en suite. "Let's get you cleaned up and presentable enough to medicate your nephew."

  
Serena let herself her be led to the shower, watchful, silent, as Bernie turned the hot water on. The graceful angles of Bernie's arms and legs, the flare of her hips, the curve of her pale bottom were easy to enjoy. A heated glance was tossed over Bernie's shoulder at her, a hand offered to her. She took it and a shuddering breath and Bernie pulled them both into the steaming stream of water. Their kisses were lazy, the urgency of earlier faded somewhat, exhaustion buzzed behind their eyelids. Serena hummed her contentment, enveloped in Bernie's arms and the hot water.

Jason didn't get his medication until 02:45. Fortunately, he was half-asleep and didn't seem to notice his Auntie's lateness.


	24. Chapter 24

When she pushed back into her bedroom, two bottles of water tucked in the crook of her arm, Serena couldn't help but chuckle. Bernie was ensconced in her soft robe, supine and splayed across the disheveled bed, asleep.  
"Shove over, you're on my side," Serena rumbled, unceremoniously nudging Bernie awake. She yawned widely, exhausted but pleased with the sight of the half-asleep trauma surgeon in her bed.

Bernie blinked blearily, before she pushed herself upright and scooted over. "Sorry, just closed m'eyes. Changed the sheet though, we made a bit of a mess."

Serena flopped down, laughing, sheepish.

"Quite," she said and yawned again. "I didn't mean you had to move all the way to the edge. Come back."

Serena decided there were few things she enjoyed as much as the line of Bernie's teeth when she smiled properly.  
Laying together, sharing tired kisses, Serena was overcome with a swelling contentment.

"You feel good," she murmured.

Bernie sighed, still smiling. "I was thinking the same. You set an alarm?"

"I did ...I'll be getting less than three and a half hours, thank you very much."

"Poor you. It's tragic having your brains shagged out on a weeknight. Sure you aren't getting too old, Campbell?"

"Oi! How was I to know that sapphic assignations go on until both parties can barely move?"

"What, Robbie the Bobby wasn't keeping you up 'til all hours?"

"Thirty minutes, more like," Serena said. No man she had ever been with had kept her up quite so late.

"His fool loss," Bernie said and gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Less if I was leading the proceedings."

The honk was weak, and sleepy. "Didn't know what to do with the full force of Serena Campbell, eh?"

"He was a fairly good match and a solid shag, but never my equal," Serena said, reaching for Bernie's hand, hoping that Bernie would hear what she was trying to say. She made a mental note to really talk about it soon, when it wasn't three in the morning. "He doesn't hold a candle to you, Bernie," she offered. "You do know that?"

When her words teased a grin out of Bernie, Serena smiled and rolled onto her side, tugging Bernie's arm around her waist.  
Bernie made sort of grunting noise and nuzzled against the bare skin of the nape of Serena's neck, taking the wordless invitation to curl around her.

"Promise me something" Serena murmured.

"'f course."

"Promise me you won't slink off before I wake up?"

Serena felt Bernie stiffen, then slowly relax back into Serena's body.

"I promise," she said sounding solemn and more awake than she had since Serena slipped back into bed with her.

"Good."

 


	25. Chapter 25

Bernie lay awake, curled around a lightly snoring Serena. Fiery, radiant, and brave, Serena had gone desperate and clinging, vulnerable and gasping, time and time again over the course of the night. She would never understand how Serena could trust her like that, not given her track record, not given how she was when it came to love and desire, not given how she'd already made Serena hurt.

Desire was a ridiculous beast, one she never knew what to make of or do with. It drove her blind and brainless overnight, made her do things like kiss her best friends and cheat on her well-meaning husband, who had done nothing but fall for the wrong girl. She'd never been a hero. Only a coward.

She didn't mean for any of it to happen, but it was her, so it happened nonetheless. She'd spent her whole life trying to make everything work, trying to disguise the reasons it didn't. He wanted it so badly, she'd convinced herself what she felt for Marcus was enough. She'd hidden in plain sight in Iraq, in Afghanistan, away from him and the beautiful family they created together. No, that wasn't right. Their children were beautiful - beautiful, clever, and talented. Their family had always been broken, because _she_ was broken. There had always been that whisper at the back of her brain that they were better off without her. Bernie missed heat, the dry heat, the sun. She'd begun going to a tanning salon while she was in Kiev. She knew it wasn't at all good for her skin, especially after her exposure over the years with the RAMC, but she liked how she felt afterwards, it was a familiar endorphin rush, if was short lived and hollow.  She could never get properly warm in Kiev.

Her life was full of things she tried to push away and not think about. The more Marcus tried to be with her, the more alone she felt, the further away she wanted to go. When she was suturing lives back together, it was easy enough to ignore her own. She could pretend she wasn't a coward when she was facing the chewed limbs of her comrades at arms.

She was tired of being a coward, she'd spent the last year trying not to be. It was why she divorced him, it was why she boarded an airplane back to England, to Holby, to Serena. She was tired of running. Tired of hiding herself, her desire. She wanted Serena more than she had ever wanted anyone. She was even beginning to see that perhaps she wasn't broken after all, she just wasn't who her parents, or Marcus, or Alex wanted her to be, she wasn't who she thought she was supposed to be.

Still, she'd played this game and lost miserably, before Alex, before Marcus. She'd lost every time. She'd broken the rules a few times in her youth and it only ever left her raw and empty and horribly embarrassed.

The thing about desire was, it wasn't always reciprocated. She'd ruined more than one friendship by letting her wants get in the way, by blurring lines that should have been left well enough alone. Letting go, taking that leap, well, it was all or nothing, wasn't it? And there was no guarantee that enthusiastic sex in the dark wouldn't fade to regret come daylight.

So, she lay in Serena's bed, going over the course of the day, cringing from the stupid ways she behaved - returning with no word, with a shit-wrapped bottle of duty-free booze and a half-explanation, and then seething with jealousy over Robbie. It shocked her how much it gutted her thinking Serena had rekindled things with him. Robbie who had rejected Jason, — brilliant, sincere, particular Jason — left Serena when she was taking on something so good and meaningful, something that she obviously needed to do. Bernie had made the mistake of asking why it hadn't worked out with Robbie. When Serena told her, Bernie was glad she didn't know him. She didn't need to deal with assault charges, not at her age. Stupid, selfish Robbie. He didn't deserve the second chance Serena gave him. But then again she didn't deserve the second chance Serena gave her.

Bernie didn't deserve it, but she wanted this. She wanted go to bed with Serena and wake up with her, to find out what it was like to be herself with someone. She wanted it so much it terrified her, so she listened to Serena's breath, matched hers to it and tried to will back the calm she had felt earlier, freshly showered, changing the sheets of the bed they'd just made love upon. She wanted a cigarette, but there was no way to extricate herself without disturbing Serena. Serena who had thrown herself into all of it eyes wide open. Serena who had made her promise to stay the night.

Sweet lord, Serena felt good. Bernie had lost nearly all control early-on, and had rutted against her like a fourteen year old boy. But Serena only laughed that low, throaty laugh that dripped sex, and pulled their hips tighter together.

Bernie drew a ragged breath when she thought of hoisting Serena onto the dresser, remembered her surprised gasp, the way she opened her legs wider when Bernie had dropped to a squat and licked up Serena's sex. She'd dragged a wide tongue over her belly, listening to the sounds of their arousal, not dropping her gaze until after she'd tugged on Serena's nipple with her teeth. Bernie had kissed the groans her touches evoked to silence, then drew them out again with searching, greedy fingers.

There was no denying Serena had wanted all of it, had enjoyed all of it. She had said as much out loud, multiple times. She smiled thinking of the range of sounds she had teased out of Serena. She had expected full throated moans, graveled cries, but not Serena's quiet, vulnerable pleasure sounds. Those had cut her to her core and made her burn even hotter with want, made her feel blessed almost, that she'd been the one to evoke them.

Bernie knew she was over-thinking things, understood how fucked her logic was. She resented the irrational feeling that it would all blow up in her face in the morning. She could go over their coupling point by point, and see how she was creating worry where none need be. She just didn't trust her happiness to last. She could only try to do right by Serena while it did. For now that meant keeping her promise, simply staying put. She finally settled slowly to sleep, the scent of Serena's skin in her nose and soft snores lulling her.

 


	26. Chapter 26

"C'mon, lazy bones, you have a shift to get to."

Serena huffed and stirred. "Five more minutes."

"You hit snooze three times!"

Serena groaned.

"Whose fault is that?" she demanded, groggily.

Bernie nipped the skin between Serena's shoulder blades. "Your's?"

Serena's full-bodied yawn and stretch ended with a squawk. "Well I certainly didn't shag myself until 3 in the morning, now did I?"

"Can't handle the heat, stay out of the fire, Campbell. You invited me over."

"Technically, I did not - that was Jason's doing," Serena said, turning in Bernie's arms, eyes glinting and playful, looking so happy it hurt.

"That settles it, then. This is all his fault."

"Definitely his fault," Serena said, then lowered her voice. "Good morning, Major."

"Good morning," Bernie replied, gone suddenly shy, heart singing with relief at the easy banter. She pulled Serena in closer, to hide her eyes, to hold onto her for just a moment, before letting go. "You really should be getting up, Serena. It's almost quarter of seven."

Serena grumbled, sighed, and pushed out of bed.

"Lord, Bernie, How am I expected to walk after all that?" she asked, taking a few wobbly steps.

"One foot in front of the other, soldier." Bernie grinned widely, feeling the confidence she'd found when they were tangled together the night before, the confidence she lost as soon as Serena fell asleep.

"You don't start until noon?"

"Mmhmm."

"If you like, I can drop you at yours on my way in - give you a chance to put your clothes away, settle back in for a few hours."

"I can get an uber, I don't want to be a bother."

"I wouldn't have offered if it was a bother."

"I know you wouldn't," Bernie ducked her head. "I just ... Well, I thought I could spend an hour or two with Jason — if you don't mind — maybe make him breakfast. I ... missed him."

Serena paused, in her bra and knickers, fresh blouse in hand, her heart in her face. She took a breath and returned to dressing while she spoke.

"He'll like that, if you follow his exact instructions. It's, Thursday? That means it's porridge day. He'll enjoy ordering you about. He missed you, too."

They pottered about pleasantly, readying for the day. Bernie could nearly weep with the domesticity of it all. She gathered two cups of strong tea and leaned against the door of the en suite, watching Serena carefully style her hair (hair that Bernie had learned lay flat and soft when all product was washed out of it), and was nearly successful at keeping her hands to herself. Serena managed to leave on schedule, but not before snogging Bernie to gasping, and going all soft and un-Serena-ishly vulnerable.

"I shouldn't like to presume, and of ... of course I understand if you need space to settle in, but you are welcome to come 'round after your shift. If you like. I mean after last night, lord knows I need to actually sleep. But if you'd enjoy — uhh,  _Thursday, soup night_ — a bowl of homemade soup, some telly, and a cuddle, you'd be most welcome."

Bernie wasn't used to the full feeling in her chest, the consuming warmth that bloomed when Serena spoke. It was disconcerting, feeling happy like this, feeling comfortable and good, wanting to be wanted. She could tell Serena meant the invitation, and she could also tell just how much Serena didn't want to pressure her. Because she was Serena and she always understood. Marcus never did. And she knew with a guilty clarity that if she had been able to tell Serena was she told Dom, that she was scared they were moving too fast and were going to muck it all up, Serena would have understood, Serena would have let her set the pace. She swallowed and pressed a lingering kiss to Serena's cheek, before tipping her head to brush two gentle pecks against her lips.

"Sounds like just the thing," she whispered, blinking, and hearing her voice go rough with emotion. "Now, go. Save lives. I'll join you in a while."

 


End file.
